Sitting in the back of the wagon on the long road to Orario, I cringed as another wave of stench hit me.
Beside me sat a fat bastard who smelled like whatever builds up under your toenail when you forget basic hygiene. You know—the gunk. Yeah. That gunk.
I gagged and leaned away, gripping my bag tighter. It'd been a couple of weeks since I left Z and Bell behind.
Hope those two are doing okay...
Without them, I wouldn't have made it this far. Simple as that.
Lying across my lap was the Buster Sword. I'd polished every inch of it—every nick, every scratch, every scar burned into the steel. Heavy. Cold. Familiar. The only thing in this world that never lied to me.
"Hey, twerp."
The voice was loud. Obnoxious. Uninvited.
I looked up, already irritated, and locked eyes with some blond douchebag—greasy hair slicked back, smug grin glued to his face like it was permanently stuck there.
"What?" I snapped, not even pretending to be polite.
That sneer wiped his smile just a bit. He straightened, puffing himself up like a pigeon trying to look intimidating.
"What's up with that slab of steel you're carrying?" he said, gesturing at the sword. "You really think that thing's gonna be effective in the Dungeon?"
He tried to sound smart.
He failed miserably.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too fucking much?" I shot back.
A few people in the caravan chuckled. Quietly. Carefully.
The blond prick noticed.
Didn't like it one bit.
Something in his eyes hardened—and then it happened.
The motherfucker drew his sword and pointed it straight at me.
I clenched my teeth, blue eyes glaring back at him. I could feel his so-called bloodlust leaking out—thin, forced, fake as hell. It wasn't scary. Not even a little.
My gaze sharpened.
"Watch where you're pointing that sword," I said coldly. "I suggest you put it back in your sheath. Unless you don't want to keep that arm."
He laughed. Loud. Stupid.
"And what's a little twerp like you gonna do?" he mocked, looking me up and down like I was already beneath his boot.
My hand settled on the cold steel hilt of the Buster Sword.
The weight grounded me.
I was just about to stand—
BOOM.
The wagon lurched violently.
I slammed shoulder-first into someone as the entire caravan jolted. People crashed into each other like falling dominoes—bags, crates, bodies all flying in a mess of curses and yells.
I hit the floor hard.
Something wet. Something warm.
I froze.
...Oh.
I slowly inhaled.
Great.
Now I smelled like shit.
I lay there staring at the wooden planks above me, listening to the chaos outside, and let out a tired breath.
"Thank you, God," I muttered. "Really. Appreciate it."
"It's a troll!? No... it's two of them!" screamed the two men, their voices cracking with panic.
Two hulking behemoths were smashing the caravan in front of us. You could hear the screams of nobles and peasants alike being turned into minced meat.
The road had become a river of blood. The birdsong was gone, replaced by the gut-wrenching cries of the dying. Dust and smoke choked the air. The smell of blood mixed with fear made my stomach churn.
Everyone in our wagon froze. Fear painted their faces. Why? It's just a troll.
I didn't give a shit. I wasn't staying another second in this clown circus.
Grabbing the buster sword, I twirled it once in my hands, letting the blade hum with barely contained energy. Sparks of light reflected off its polished surface like fire catching in a puddle of blood. I slung it across my back, feeling the weight anchor me.
The blond douchebag—now pissing his pants—stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
"You're not really going out there! You'll get shredded!" he cried, grabbing my leg.
I kicked him away like he was a fly. "It's a couple of Level 1 trolls. If you can't handle that, you don't belong in the dungeon. Hell, you don't belong anywhere near adventure. Now shut the fuck up."
I stepped out of the wagon. The sun caught the blade, glinting across my eyes, casting shadows over my face. The trolls paused mid-feast and turned their massive heads, focusing on me with horrifying, dull intelligence.
The first troll—one massive, muscle-bound monstrosity—snarled, saliva dripping from jagged teeth, swinging a club the size of a wagon wheel. The second one lurched forward, each step shaking the ground. Dirt and blood sprayed into the air, clinging to the screams of the dying.
I jogged toward them, the earth trembling under every footfall. My heart was calm. My mind clear. Over the year, my style had evolved—an elegant brutality. My swordplay flowed like a master sushi chef carving fish: precise, fluid, deadly.
I closed the distance. The first troll swung its massive arm. I ducked under the blow, letting the wind from its swing whistle past my ears. With a sharp twist, I struck its knee tendons—feeling the snap under my blade. It dropped to one knee, screaming like a dying animal, the sound echoing across the carnage.
The second troll reacted instantly, swinging a massive fist toward me. I sidestepped, bringing the side of the buster blade up to block. The impact sent shockwaves up my arms and threw me backward into a tree. Bark exploded under the force of my back hitting it.
I bounced off the trunk, feeling the recoil like a rocket springing me forward. Dirt sprayed around me. Blood from the fallen painted the ground in streaks of red. My blade was back in my hands, spinning with lethal intent.
Even as the caravan behind me screamed, trampled, or vomited from terror, I felt nothing but the rhythm of the fight. My eyes narrowed. The trolls were big, ugly, and stupid—but I was faster. Smarter. Deadlier.
I sprinted again, each step tearing into the mud. The first troll tried to rise, the second swung a jagged branch like a club. I dodged, slashed, and countered—movement fluid, brutal, cinematic. Sparks flew, blood sprayed, and the air itself seemed to vibrate with the impact of steel meeting flesh.
"GWHAAAA!"
One of the trolls roared, its voice a volcanic rumble that rattled the wagon and dirt alike. Its arm—now nothing more than a bloody stump—rolled across the ground like a grotesque wheel. Tiny, furious red eyes fixed on me, burning with raw, stupid hate.
I shifted into a stance, low and loose, the buster sword hovering like a predator's tail. No words were needed. My grin said it all: Is that all you've got, you ugly bastard?
The other troll bellowed something, a warning—or maybe just a scream—but it didn't matter. Its comrade didn't care. Pain, logic, caution—meaningless. Rage carried it forward.
And then it moved.
The troll with the mangled arm lunged straight at me, ignoring its companion's cries. The ground shuddered with each thunderous step. Rocks and chunks of dirt flew, scattering like frightened birds.
Time slowed for a heartbeat. I could see every twitch, every furious snarl, every bead of red-hot hate in its tiny, stupid eyes. I pivoted on my heel, letting the weight of the buster blade swing with me—elegance and brutality fused into a single motion.
Its stump-arm flailed, scraping the dirt, sending mud and blood spraying. I let it pass, a perfect sidestep, then drove the tip of my blade into the tendon where shoulder met stump.
The troll screamed—a sound so raw it made the air itself shiver. But it didn't stop. Rage fueled it. Blind fury carried it forward.
I tightened my grip. My grin widened. Good. Bring it closer.
He slammed his fist down, trying to crush me like an insect.
I dodged at the last second.
The impact shattered the ground beneath us—stone caved in, a small crater blooming outward as debris and dust exploded into the air.
This is my chance.
The troll roared, momentarily blinded by the cloud of rubble. It swung wildly, confused, searching—like a lost animal.
I moved.
With a burst of speed, I leapt high, soaring above its massive frame. The troll finally looked up.
Too late.
The Buster Sword came down in a brutal arc.
I split it clean in half.
Flesh tore. Guts spilled out in an instant, bursting like an overripe grape. Crimson drenched my body, warm and heavy, the sharp scent of copper filling my lungs as the corpse collapsed beneath me.
The second troll froze.
Fear and hatred twisted across its grotesque face.
...Yeah. Definitely stupid.
I dashed forward.
It didn't even have time to scream.
My blade flashed once—clean, decisive. Its head separated from its neck, spinning away as a fountain of blood erupted from the lifeless body.
Silence followed.
Only the sound of dripping blood and my own breathing remained.
Everyone saw.
A boy no older than fourteen—maybe fifteen—had slaughtered two trolls by himself.
A rookie adventurer.
A single Level 1 troll was something most rookies could handle if they kept their heads. The things were stupid, slow, predictable. But two at once? A pack?
That was different.
Not hero material.Not yet.
But potential.
I wiped the Buster Sword clean, tearing a strip of cloth from one of the fallen and dragging it along the blade until the crimson was gone. Steel gleamed again, cold and honest.
I walked past the blond douchebag—the same loudmouth from earlier—now reduced to a trembling coward. He wouldn't even meet my eyes.
Stopping at the driver's seat, I spoke calmly.
"Can we leave now?"
The driver stared ahead, eyes unfocused. In front of us lay the aftermath—four wagons completely destroyed. Bodies scattered across the road. Some of them were young adventurers. Kids, really. Strong enough to leave their villages… but nowhere near ready for the outside world.
That was always the problem with places far from Orario.
They didn't understand how dangerous things really were. A little training. A little confidence. Then they packed up and headed for the city, thinking that was enough.
It wasn't.
"So," I said after a moment, exhaling, "I'm guessing I'm walking the rest of the way."
The driver flinched.
"Fine. But I'd like my money back. No point in you keeping it if you can't do the job."
He didn't argue. Just nodded stiffly and dug into his pocket, handing me a small bag of coins with shaking hands.
As I turned to leave, a voice shouted from behind me.
"W–Wait!"
I stopped.
"Who the fuck are you?"
I turned slowly. The blond's face was twisted with frustration—fear, humiliation, confusion all tangled together.
I looked at him once. Really looked.
Then I answered.
"Angel."
I adjusted the strap of the Buster Sword on my back.
"Angel Cru'uzu."